


Under your skin

by Padab00ty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Swap, I suck at tagging, If you read this you're a sinner tbh, Implied Underage, Kinda like how Sam deals throughout the years?, M/M, Masturbation, Smut, This isnt even good, Wincest - Freeform, dean and sam switch bodies, lots of misunderstandings, sam ends up with a suprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padab00ty/pseuds/Padab00ty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean switch bodies. Dean leaves Sam a suprise. Misunderstandings ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter's slow, just bear with me okay

There was a tunnel on the way to school. It wasnt a long tunnel. Really it was just a bridge above the road, but it had provided shelter from those icy winds that come with those last two weeks between fall and winter, where the leaves are dead and the ground is frozen and the skies are blank as if the world is a coloring book and someone forgot to fill in that part of the page.

Sam didnt mind the cold very much. It made him feel numb, detached somehow from what was really happening. He could drift off into his own mind and not think about what would be waiting when he got home after his hour long trek. His brother with another douchey friend or curvy girl or even worse, his father. He hated the town and the people and the _waiting,_  the waiting to see if his father was even alive, but most of all he hated knowing he was going to have to move. Again.

So he stalled on the walk home and sometimes lit up a joint under the bridge because, hell, he was a teenager and that's what teenagers do, right? And because his self-proclaimed friend Johnny had so graciously offered. (He wasn't much of a friend really, Sam just hated his company less than everyone else's at the shithole called Avon High School)

That bridge was what had brought them there in the first place. The infamous "Avon haunted bridge". You'd think over a hundred years of urban ledgend might've dredged up a more creative name for the place. Either way it didn't take long to realize the thing was a total hoax.

The only death that had actually even occured at the bridge was an infant that had been dropped by it's mother in a desperate attempt to flee an oncoming train and if there was a baby ghost flying around either it was really good at hiding or another hunter had taken care of it long ago.

If the haunting was a fake, why were they still here two and a half weeks later? That would be a question for John Winchester, who had stumbled home at three in the morning muttering about witches, tossed dean some cash, and checked out.

So yeah, maybe the bridge didn't really live up to the glory of its name, which is why Sam is confused when it's what he believes to be the last thing he'll ever see. Just the tunnel of darkness growing steadily closer with each heavy step...


	2. Chapter 2: Cursed

 Dean woke up freezing and sore. He had no idea where he was but that wasnt exactly weird for him. He woke up under new sheets almost every morning. Well not  _new_ sheets. Most of them were stained and worn thin and half the time they werent even washed, but he at least had a bed to sleep in, which was more than some people could say, so he wasn't complaining.

 He tried going back to his last memory, retracing his steps in a way. Yesterday...after Sam came home from school he shut himself in his room so Dean had ordered pizza with his friend Chad and listened to his stupid story about falling off a railing skateboarding (you cant actually fall offif you never make it  _on_ , Dean had commented half-heartedly) all the while worrying about his younger brother. 

 By the time Sam had finally worked up the courage to leave his room, John's truck was parked on the curb and his boots were on the front porch. Dean watched Sam stiffen as their father slammed his fist nonstop on the door (what he called knocking.)

 "Dean open this damn door" He triple checked the peephole just to be sure before unlocking the deadbolt.

 "Son hurry it up we're losing daylight." Dean resisted the urge to point out that it was already night before flipping the lock on the door knob and giving it a twist. John shoved past him into the house and began picking things up off the floor. Sam reluctantly joined in, both of them knowing the drill by now. 

 "You just gonna stand there? Or are you gonna help me get this shit into the car? We don't have much time. This thing's on the move." 

 "Yes, Sir. I mean no, Sir." Dean mumbled, fumbling with the bags and wondering what exactly "this thing" was.

 "A witch. Nasty one." John answered the unasked question, not letting the conversation distract from his almost mechanical way of cleaning the place up. 

 The house was a nice house on a nice road in a nice subdivision called Thornridge or something in this nice town, Who The Hell Cares, Indiana. Probably one of the nicest places they'd stayed in for months if you're into that white picket fence lifestyle. Dean wasn't. He didnt like nice things. He didn't belong in a place with fluffy couches or beds that had too many pillows and he certainly did not belong anywhere that Sam was more than an arms length away. No, he definitely preferred cheap motels and bars and sharing a single bedroom with his 17 year old little brother that wasnt so little anymore. 

 "What's it's name?" Sam asked absently as he dropped his bag by the door and began helping Dean pick up his dirty clothes.

 "Agnes Sampson."

 Sam frose with a sock dangling just above Dean's duffle. "Agnes Sampson.  _The_ Agnes Sampson? Seriously? Agnes Sampson?" Dean grabbed the sock from Sam's hand and threw it in the duffel before zipping it up.

 John studied Sam for a moment. "You goin' deaf, boy? Yeah, it's her." 

 They moved out the door to put their stuff in the car together and Sam continued after a long time of what Dean guessed to be internal dialogue. "Isn't she supposed to be dead?" 

 Dean let out a frustrated sigh. "Okay what exactly am I missing here?"

 "Agnes Sampson was a witch in Scotland in the late sixteenth century. She was said to have attempted to indirectly kill Queen Anne and some also blamed her for the death of King James the sixth in 1590. Later that year she was burned at the stake during the North Berwick Witch Trials." 

 "How do you  _know_ that?" 

 "How do you not?" 

 Dean laughed and shook his head. "Because im not a nerd like you." Sam started to protest before dean finished "Can't all be gifted with brains like that, can we?" There was a flash of something like pain in Sam's eyes. Pain for Dean. Probably more like pity. But then it was gone and they were both getting into the impala and driving away.

 

 When they finally caught up to the witch, she was ready. Of course she was, it's nearly impossible to get the jump on someone who's been around that long.

 Most of the fight was hazy in Dean's memory. He remembers sam getting slammed into a wall and passing out, he remembers the witch with some book and a blue light, he remembers his dad stabbing her in tbe stomach and her coughing out that it was too late through the blood in her mouth and then a shimmering light where she had been that didn't exactly make it look like she was dead. 

 

 Dean sat up under a thin blanket and stretched his stiff muscles, noting that he needed to work out more - his arms were getting pretty skinny. Definitely not in Thornridge anymore either. The walls were blue with a deeper blue diamond pattern and the countertops and sheets were a cringe-worthy shade of salmon. John was snoring loudly from the couch, empty beer bottles on the floor and static on the tv. There was a light brown nightstand between the two beds and on top was a lamp, a room key and and a small pad of paper. Dean noticed the words printed on the top corner of the paper in maroon: Budget Inn, Fairmont, Minnesota. He also noticed his skin was tanner and he couldn't find a single freckle anywhere. 

 "Weird," he mumbled out loud and instantly looked to the other bed to check that he hadnt woken the lump of blankets that were moving up and down slightly, signifying that Sam was in there somewhere and breathing.

 Dean let out a sigh and scratched the back of his neck, freezing when he noticed that his hair was longer than it should have been. 

 He stood up and the cold air instantly washed over him, making him want to crawl back under the covers but he  _had to check._ He crossed the carpeted floor until it became chipping tile and the mirror was right in front of him. 

 It took everything Dean had in him not to scream as he turned around, headed back to the bed and ripped off Sam's covers. He looked down as his own eyes opened slowly and focused on him and then went wide. Sam sat up too quickly in his bed and his head hit Dean's.

 "Morning, Sammy." He laughed as Sam looked at him, pure horror taking over his features completely. 

 "Dean, why are you wearing my body?" 

 "I could ask you the same thing." 


	3. Chapter 3: Get outta town

 "What do you mean you don't know??"

 "Sorry i'm not magic, Sam. I can't just poof us back to normal. And keep your voice down. You don't wanna wake up Dad, do you?" 

 "No but...I mean, don't we need his help, Dean?" This was surreal. Dean was having a conversation with himself. Well, not himself, not really.

 It was definitely his Sam. The little brother he'd had millions of conversations with, some without using words. He knew everything about this kid, what made him angry, his favorite movies, pet peeves, where he was ticklish, his nervous ticks, you name it. He'd seen him in every way there was to see him...except like this. This was new. 

 He sat cross-legged on the bed directly on front of Dean, green eyes wide and innocent staring up at him.

 This wasn't how Dean looked in the mirror. Of course the shapes and colors were still the ones he'd been wearing a day ago, down to the last freckle. But the mannerisms and expressions and quiet softness in his eyes were completely different. 

 "Sam I dont think we should tell him."

 "What? That's crazy. Why wouldn't we-" he was cut off by a clanking glass bottle and John adjusting himself in his sleep. When he resumed speaking, his voice was even softer. "Why wouldn't we tell him? Maybe he knows how to fix this."

 The argument was completely rational, normally Dean would be completely up for going to John for help, but something in his gut was telling him not to. 

 "Sam, Dad already has another hunt set up. You know that. The thing only comes out once every twenty years, you think he'd skip out on that even if we asked? We can't ask him to do that, Sammy, lives are at stake here. We can figure this out on our own." 

 Sam hummed as though he was thinking but they both knew he was going to say yes. He nodded slowly, trying to run his hand through his hair. His eyes met Deans new hazel ones. "Together then."

 Dean smiled back and told himself that he was really doing this for his father. Not for himself.

 

 Getting John Winchester to change his mind was hard. When he wanted something he got it, end of story and what he wanted was Dean and Sam out of harm's way. 

 "Well technically, we'll be further from the monster this way. Doesn't that make it safer?" Dean was trying to sound like a moody 17 year old, and as far as he was concerned he was passing with flying colors. It was a completely new experience, being able to talk back. 

 Sam, on the other hand, was having a much harder time adjusting. He could hardly stand sitting on the couch trying to look disinterested while his brother got to play the problem child for once. Not that Sam  _liked_ arguing, but, well, he did. 

 "Sam, I already told you, I have to take route 90 to get to Nebraska anyway, I'll just drop the two of you off at Bobby's for a while. It'll only be a few days." 

 "Great, then we'll only be staying here a few days." 

 "Sam,"

 "What?"

 Johns eyes turned on the real Sam, silently begging him to intervene. "What, nothing to say today?" 

 "Oh I've got  _plenty_ to say." Sam mumbled.

 "What was that?" They were walking on thin ice already, the last thing they needed was to piss him off.

 "I said, 'No, Sir'." Sam said in such a spot-on impression of Dean it was uncanny even if it was only four words.

 "Look, I don't have the money to keep this room. Hell, I don't have enough money for food in case this lasts longer than expected. And you'll both be safest with Bobby."

 "Dean can get a job, there's a garage down the street that had a help wanted sign. Within walking distance and everything." 

 John's eyes began to soften as his phone rang. 

"Its Bobby," he announced to no one in particular before opening the phone and answering it. Sam shot Dean a panicked look while his back was turned. 

  _I don't know how to fix cars._

Dean's soft glance calmed him down immediately and Sam let out a sigh. If Dean said everything was okay, everything was okay.

 The phone clicked shut and John turned around to face them. "Bobby has another case and can't find anyone else to cover it. He's gonna have to go himself. Which means...I guess you can stay here. Make sure to lock and salt the windows and doors. I have to leave now if i'm gonna make it on time."

 John grabbed his duffle and opened the door before turning back to look at them. "And boys," John shot Sam the "Watch out for Sammy" glance. "Don't do anything stupid." With that he was out the door and soon after came the sound of an engine fading into the distance. 

 "Dude we owe Bobby big time." 


	4. Chapter 4: Puberty sucks. (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincest/smut (?) alert  
> Also sorry this took so long, I accidentally deleted it like three times and had to restart.

 John frowned as he fixed his rearview mirror. Something was definitely wrong. Not only were they oddly adamant about staying in the motel, but, though he couldn't put his finger on what it was, they were acting _weird._ Weirder than usual.

 He considered going back to check on them but decided against it. The case was what was important. Two people were already dead.

 He shot one last worried glance over his shoulder (though he couldn’t see his sons or even the building they were staying in anymore) before returning his attention to the road and case ahead.

 

 They spent the better half of the day adjusting to their new bodies. Sam was getting used to the subtle height difference and Dean...well, he was trying.

 “Dean that's the fourth time you’ve knocked over that chair.” Sam noted absently.

 “It’s not my fault you're a fucking giraffe, Sam.”

 “Just don't leave any permanent damage, okay?”

 “Yeah, yeah- son of a _bitch,_ Sammy, how are you even keeping yourself upright in this thing?”

 Sam rolled his eyes and went back to his book. _Twenty thousand leagues under the sea_ by Jules Verne. He glanced at Dean, still surprised to find that it was himself watching the grossly inaccurate cowboy movie on the tv. Suddenly his stomach growled loudly and he cursed Dean’s large appetite as he closed his book and got up.

 “Dean.” No response. “Dean.” Nothing. “ _Dean._ We need to get food.”

 “You’re the one with the keys, kid.” He mumbled, not looking away from the black and white screen.

 “You realize they made colored tv a while ago, right, grandpa?”

 Dean ignored him and responded with a short. “They’re in my duffel.” It took Sam a minute to realize he was talking about the keys to the impala and about five more minutes until he was behind the wheel with them in the ignition.

 He knew how to drive. He’d done it on the various occasions that Dean and John had been either too injured or too drunk, but he didn’t have a license. As soon as Dean had turned sixteen he’d gotten one. John had stood up one day out of the blue and muttered something about dean being “more useful” if he could drive. But not Sam.

 He supposed he was a bit of a flight risk. He sighed and started up the car, checking the mirrors three times before speeding off towards the nearest Walmart. Eight more months. Eight more months and then he was free.

 

 Dean waited a few minutes for the purr of Baby’s engine to completely fade into the distance and double checked that the doors were locked before making his way to the small bathroom. He hopped up on the stained grey counter in front of the mirror and pulled of his (Sam’s) shirt.

 Dean sucked in a small breath as he looked at his toned chest and abs, not overly muscular, just firm with soft lines carved into the length of his torso. He was slightly breathless looking at the body he was in. It wasn't that he hadn't seen Sam shirtless plenty of times, but he’d never had the chance to really _look._

 He was beautiful. His skin was a golden type of tan that seemed to stretch for miles down his defined hip bones and maybe even….

 He definitely was not going there. No. Nope. This was his Sammy, his little _brother_ he was thinking of here. There was absolutely no way he would...his dick twitched in his jeans and he bit his lip.

 It'd been like this all day long. He’d been stuck with this hormonal teenage body and the curse of the perpetual hard-on that came with it and he couldn't do anything about it. At least not until now. And who knew when he’d get the chance again.

 He took another look at himself, let himself drink in his own image, let the weight of what he was about to do wash over him. He assured himself that he wasn't taking advantage of him, that it was his body right now even if it didn't feel like it and Sam probably did this all the time. Dean shivered at the thought of Sam touching himself. Besides, it's not like the kids a virgin anyway, right?

 Dean froze at the thought. He might've even been a virgin. But this wasn't sex, it was just...masturbation. He cringed at the word and wondered again if this was okay, but the lines of his morality and judgement were blurred by his lust. He couldnt think straight at all. He needed friction more than anything, more than oxygen right now.

 He popped the button on his jeans and pulled them off, denim scratching roughly through his boxers and making him even harder. Fuck, he was going to hell.

 Dean closed his eyes and took in a shaky breath before reaching his hand down under the elastic band of the boxers, shivering with pleasure as his hand slid over smooth skin, down to his head where his slit was already dripping with precum. _Fuck._

He knew Sam was more than proportional. He'd been walking around with the thing between his legs all day for God's sake. But actually touching it made it real, .ore intimate.

 He gripped tight and tugged on his dick, slicking it up, but it wasn't enough yet. He grabbed the small bottle of conditioner off the counter next to him and squirted most of it onto his hand before placing it around his shaft again. He winced at the cold wet sensation on his skin and moaned quietly as he began to flick his wrist. He moved his other hand up his chest slowly to pinch his nipple and cried out again as he came so quickly that it would be embarrassing if it wasn't so _incredibly hot._

 When his eyes finally reached the white splattered mirror again, he studied himself, cheeks rosy, eyes dark with lust, pink lips parted in a moan. He had imagined Sam like this probably for longer than he’d be willing to admit. Ever.

 He sat there breathing heavily for a few minutes, forehead against the cold mirror before he cleaned up the mess and hid the evidence. He even went as far as to burn the tissues in the sink with his trusty zippo. Sam could never find out.

 

 When Sam pulled up to the motel again, car now containing four bags of food (two full of groceries and two of carryout chinese) he raced to the door. It hadn’t been until he was at the checkout, but when he’d realized Dean was in his scrawny body all alone at this sketchy motel, he'd driven back as fast as he could without breaking any laws. (Not that he really cared about the laws but getting pulled over would take too long)

 He was nearly breaking down the door knocking when he remembered his own key and barely got it unlocked before he threw the door open and marched inside.

 Dean was lying on the couch like he had been when Sam had last seen him, eyelashes splayed across his cheeks and breaths coming out soft and measured. It was weird seeing himself like this. Sam doubted he'd moved at all the entire hour and a half he was gone. Sam sighed and slammed the door behind him loud enough to wake Dean. He tossed everything on the table.

 Dean sat up and yawned, eyes immediately finding Sam in the small room and picking up on his worry. “Everything okay, Sammy?” He asked through a yawn.

 “Yeah, uh. You should eat something.” Sam looked away and tossed Dean one of the red and white bags labeled “New China King”.

 Dean opened a box and took a bite of chicken, taking his time swallowing before he responded. “You sure everything's alright, Sam? You look a little spooked.” Sam bit his lip and nodded.

Dean's face broke into a grin suddenly. “What?”

“Nothin. Just think it's funny you were so worried about me.”

 “I wasn't.”

 “Yeah. Sure.”

 Sam turned around to put the keys on the nightstand and muttered a quiet “Jerk.” under his breath.

 “Bitch.” Dean shot back, smiling down at his food.

 

 Dean and Sam had never had a normal relationship. Sam knew most kids didn't sleep with their brother until they were eleven, had always known. But Dean had never said anything so neither did he. He slept best that way anyways.

 He was still surprised when Dean had said he wanted his own bed. It seemed to make sense to everyone but Sam. He just assumed Dean didn't like him very much anymore and had suffered through the nightmares and tried not to bother him.

 It was only a few more years before he understood himself. Of course he knew the basics about sex ed, but he was never really around long enough to get how the whole thing worked.

 Now he was seventeen and he wanted the comfort of his brother by his side more than he had in the past six years combined as he stared at his dark form on the bed next to him.

 “Dean?”

 There was a long stretch of silence before the reply came. “Mmmff?”

 “Can i sleep with you?”

 Dean rolled over. That woke him up. “Huh?”

“I uh, it's just, I'm pretty nervous about getting a job tomorrow and I mean, it's my body so it's more like I'm sleeping with me than it is like I'm sleeping with you. And maybe if we sleep closer, it’ll-”

“Okay.”

 Sam was a little thrown off guard. Dean never gave in that easy. “You...What?”

 “I said _okay,_ dumbass. Get in here then.” Dean lifted his covers in an invitation and Sam somehow sprinted across the two steps between the beds.

 “Easy, Tiger.” There was a smile in the tone that was irrefutably Dean's, even though the voice wasn't. Suddenly Sam was self concious and he tried not to move or breathe at all but he couldn't help laughing a little.

 “What’s so funny?” Dean asked, the dark swallowing up his words in a way that made it seem like he never really spoke, like Sam might've imagined it.

 “Nothing, it's just that I'm taller than you now.”

 “Not for long.” Dean mumbled.

 “You know one day, im probably gonna actually be taller than you.”

 "You gonna start wearing stilettos, Sammy? Good. Girls in heels are always really hot."

 "You realize you're not getting any taller than you are now, right? You've reached your maximum height. All downhill from here, old man." 

“Shaddup.” Dean said into his pillow before wrapping one arm around Sam and letting himself drift off to sleep.

And if Sam said “I love you” into the dark, no one was around to hear it except the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys give me criticism. What do you like? What don't you like? It's my first work on here and i'm making it up as I go along so let me know what I can do to improve.


	5. Down to business

 Dean woke up to the smell of egg mcmuffins and pancakes. Sam obviously wasn't in bed anymore (someone must have gotten the food) and dean didn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed.

 “Morning princess” Dean cracked his eyes open and looked around. The greasy fast food bags were on the nightstand and the sheets where sam had slept held no sign he'd been there at all.

 Sam himself was sitting on the couch with his laptop, hair sleep mussed, clothes wrinkled, and bags under his eyes like he’d been up for hours. There was light filtering in through the pink curtains, making the entire room that same shade and reflecting off the dust that flew up in the air whenever Dean shifted. He decided to focus on that when he spoke.

 “How long you been up?” His voice was slurred and childish and it brought him back to when Sam was a kid and would wake up in the impala, markings on his cheek from where he'd been laying on the seat and immediately look for Dean. He’d always looked for Dean. When he woke up, at lunch or in the hallway, when he got out of school, always. He still did that now, but probably more out of habit than necessity. Probably didn't even notice he was doing it.

 “Like fifteen minutes, I don't know.” The answer broke Dean out of his reverie, pulling him slowly back to the real world.

 “Liar.” He muttered as he pulled back the covers and grabbed the food. He wasn't really that hungry, it was more of a reflex than anything.

 “You eat?”

 “Mhm.” Another lie. Sam didn’t look up from the computer.

 “What'd you eat then.”

 Sam finally made eye contact with him. “Why does it matter so much? I'm not hungry, okay? I'm trying to figure out how to get us back to normal. Could you give me a break?”

 Dean decided to ignore the attitude and the fact that he hadn't really answered the question for now. “You look like shit. Want the first shower?”

 Sam froze. “Shower?”

 “I know you aren't really familiar with the idea. It's where you wash yourself when-”

 “I mean why do we need to take them? It's not like we’re doing anything important today, right?” Sam laughed nervously.

 “You have a job thingy.” Dean squinted at Sam worriedly. “Dude what's wrong with you, you sure you're-” _Oh. Now it makes sense._ “You're really worried about that? Man, I've seen you naked like, a thousand times. It's not a big deal.”

 “Yeah whatever. Just let me go get some clothes.”

 

 It was totally a big deal.

 Not when Sam gathered up his clothes and walked in. Not when he took off his clothes without glancing at himself or a mirror even once. Not even when he cleaned himself and got out.

 It was a big deal when he accidentally glanced up as he dried off. It was a big deal now. As he stood in front of the mirror, unable to look away, captivated by the sparkling droplets of water making tiny streams down his very freckled, very _naked_ body. It was a big deal now as he ran his hands through the glistening strands of wet hair, now dark brown. It was a big deal now, as water dripped from the eyelashes that perfectly framed his vibrant eyes, the ones that were both as green and deep as a forest, the ones that felt like home.

   He tore his eyes away and managed to get dressed and stay standing as he walked back to his own bed and flopped down. “Your turn.” He mumbled into his pillow.

 

 Dean's shower had gone the way you'd expect a teenage boy's shower to go. Great. Even if his mind _did_ keep wandering back to Sam's face as he got out of the shower. He’d looked...embarrassed? Of himself or Dean? He waved the thoughts off and helped Sam practice what he was going to say to the people at the garage. Despite Dean’s constant reassurances of “it'll be fine” and “what's the worst that could happen?”

 He actually felt like he was _re_ gressing. He offered Sam a ride multiple times (he may not have a licence but he could drive a block without getting arrested) but was turned down because it was “too nice out” but Dean suspected Sam was just trying to get away from him. It was fall. No one likes fall weather.

 He didn't have time to worry about it though. He had school to worry about. Normally he’d try and skip but he knew how hard Sam was working, knew how much school meant to him. Which meant Dean had no choice. Back to highschool it was.

 

 The job interview felt more like an interrogation. Not that anything was abnormal about the place. It was surprisingly clean and quiet for a garage and the people there were mostly friendly. The man that asked him the questions wasn't.

 He was short with black hair and scruff, Mexican and unable to speak English fluently. The man wore a pink pinstriped button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and an oval name tag bearing the name “mac”. Sam laughed internally. Mac the mechanic.

 He somehow managed to answer all of the man's questions and afterwards was sent out to the small counter at the front of the building. There was a perky blonde there clad in jean shorts and a blue tank top that showed her cleavage. She was leaning over the counter talking to the receptionist who was an older woman  (also of Mexican heritage, he noted. Probably related to Mac) with dark wild hair and caring eyes. Shawna, according to her name tag.

 The younger girl turned around as he walked up and looked him up and down, eyes lingering on his lips. He blushed a little and looked away under her unrelenting stare. Why was she looking at him like that? Girls only looked at Dean like that. He remembered all at once that she _was_ looking at Dean. Which meant he could look back at her as Dean.

Confidence suddenly surged through him and he moved his eyes back to the woman now standing directly in front of him, taking his time raking his gaze over her before giving her his (Deans) brightest smile.

 “You new or something?” she asked, returning his smile.

 Sam held out his hand and tried to think of what Dean would say. “For you, baby, I could be whatever you want.” He cringed internally before amending with a simple “Name's Dean.” and a wink. God, this wasn't the time or the place.

 “Marissa.” Blondie replied, eyes bright with silent laughter “Hey do you-” she was cut off by her phone ringing and she smiled apologetically “Sorry it's important.” She picked up the phone with a simple “Hello,” and made her way towards the door.

 Sam turned to the lady at the counter and immediately faltered upon seeing her raised eyebrows. “I'm uh..”

 “Dean. So you got the job. You can come in tomorrow at seven thirty?”

 “Yeah that won't be a problem.”

 “Don't be late. Wouldn't want to have to fire you the first day.” she laughed. She had a motherly feeling about her and picked up on Sam's nervousness instantly. “Don't worry about it, I'll make sure to take an easy on you.” she smiled again, kind eyes crinkling up at the corners and putting Sam at ease and he thanked her before walking out the front doors.

 Marissa was still outside and had just hung up the phone.

 “So,” He smiled as she jumped and turned around. “Didn't know the job came with perks. What are you doing here?”

 He couldn't tell if that was any better than the first pick-up line, but she smiled when she replied. “Typical. Guys.You think a girl can't be a mechanic just because she's a girl. You know a woman gave birth to you, fed you, raised-”

 Sam cut her sentence short. “I'm sure you could be a mechanic. I just happen to know that you aren't.”

 “And how is that?”

 “First of all, you aren't wearing a uniform, so even if you did work here, you'd be off the clock, which would mean my question would have made sense anyway. Second of all, your hands don't exactly look like they work on cars all day, no offense.”

 “None taken.”

 “Third, Mac told me there were only three employees here and I happen to have had the fortune of meeting all of them already.” Sam crossed his arms “So my question still stands.”

 “Alrighty, Sherlock. If you know so much, why don't you use those deductive reasoning skills to find out where I work?”

Sam shook his head. “Sorry, took an oath to only use my crazy brain powers for good and i'm not sure stalking falls under that category.”

 She laughed light and soft. “I work at Great Plains across the street. I come to visit Shawna after work or during my breaks.”

 “Office worker, huh? So you're always busy after work then? Guess there's no chance I could convince you to grab a drink with me?”

 “Of course not, I mean of course i'm not always busy not of course...you know what, I-” she stopped and thought for a minute, like something more important had come to mind. “Are you free right now?”

 “Now? I-I guess... why?" Sam asked, a little wary.

 “I've got something else in mind. If that's okay, I mean, I know you're probably-"

 "Let me go get my car."

 

 They pulled up to the edge of a forest as Sam sent a quick text to Dean.

 

**_Won't be home for a while let me know if you need anything._ **

 

 He got out of the car and met Marissa at the edge of the trees. “You're not like, luring me into a trap or anything, right?” He laughed but his hand subconsciously brushed over the gun in his jacket.

 “You think _I'm_ the murderer? You're the big scary guy.”

 “Oh so women can be mechanics but not murderers? Seems awfully convenient for you. Besides you're the one that's leading, you have the upper hand. Terrain and what not.”

 “Just shut up and come on.”

 “No, seriously. Haven't you ever seen a scary movie? Plot twist: crazy chick did it.”

 “I seem to remember the girl being the idiot victim that always dies first.”

 “Yeah in the old stuff. Not in any of this new age feminism crap.”

 “You think it's crap?” When Sam looked at her, she had one delicate eyebrow raised and was biting her bottom lip. She was really quite pretty. Blonde hair and slightly darker eyebrows, glossy lips and blue eyes with vibrant greens mixed in, dark lashes and a nice smile. But everything about her seemed so... _small._

 “I mean, not completely. Obviously all guys like badass hot chicks in inadequate amounts of clothing killing zombies and sometimes kissing other girls.”

 “What's _wrong_ with you?” Sam laughed loudly and Marissa was laughing too. “That's the _opposite_ of the point.”

   Sam's phone buzzed.

**_Everything ok??_ **

 “Who’s that?” Marissa asked, completely abandoning her lecture.

 “It's uh, just my little brother, Sam. He's home alone. Just wondering where I was.”

  “If you need to go back-”

 “I wouldn't have told you I could come if I couldn't come. It's fine.”

**_All good._ **

 He almost ran into Marissa, she stopped so suddenly. “We’re here.”

 It was beautiful. They had stopped at a lake in the middle of the woods. Civilization wasn't even five minutes away but it felt like a whole new world. You couldn't hear any of the sounds from the city. What you could hear were crickets and cicadas and the occasional fish splashing in the water. There was the rickety skeleton of what was once a dock off to the side and the beach itself was a stretch of pebbles and stones getting smaller as they grew closer to the long expanse of water. The water itself was clear where it met the shore and turned almost black where it was deeper.

 “Okay. Let's go in.”

 “What?”

 “Let's go _in.”_ She whined. “Don't be a sissy.”

   “We don't have bathing suits.” Sam pointed out.

 “That, is where you're wrong. You always have a bathing suit on you if you're willing to humiliate yourself. And it just so happens that I am completely willing.” She spoke, tugging her few layers of clothes off.

 Sam wasn't one to argue with a naked woman even if it was the middle of fall in Minnesota. “This is crazy.” He mumbled, shimmying out of his jeans and tugging his shirt and socks off. He was focused on making sure he was careful with the jacket, not letting the gun slip out. So focused he didn't realize he forgot to hit send.

 Sam followed Marissa over to the dock and stared down over the edge at his own reflection in the dark waves. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the icy impact that he was about to experience. “Ready?”

 Marissa nodded up at him and they both took off running down the dock.

 He hit the water in a cannonball alone. He felt the impact knock the air out of his lungs and when he came up his skin was tingling.

 He looked up at Marissa still on the dock, laughing and pulled himself up.

 She stared at him and he thought of how stunning he must look right now, coming out of the lake, water streaming down his toned chest. He couldn't exactly blame her for not running as a picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She finally snapped out of it and began squirming, trying to escape, but he held on tight.

 “Don't be such a sissy.” He mimicked her tone as he dropped her over the edge. She came up gasping and grasped at his feet, pulling him back in with her.

  


 They stopped at their cars after getting back from the lake, shaking and wet and were now sitting on the impala’s hood.

 “You drive a beetle? Please god, tell me you don't put eyelashes on it or anything. We might have to rethink this whole situation.” Sam stared at the pink car in front of him for a minute. “Is there even room for a full sized human being in there?”

 “I don't think it's gotten to that point yet in my life. Anyway you've got a cool car. Impala?”

 “Yeah. Sixty-seven. Four door, bench seats. Back seat alone has enough space to fit two people. Laying down.” He winked, wondering how the hell he'd gotten here but not really caring.

 She moved a little closer and smirked. “You know, I'd just _love_ to ride it.”

 

 Dean heard the key rattle in the door and was on his feet before it was even opened.

 “Where the hell have you been?”

 “I was just with my new boss, helping out around the garage.”

 “Until nine? Sam, I have school tomorrow. I can't even drive right now, man. It sucks.”

 “What do you want me to say, Dean? You want me to say I'm sorry?”

 “YES, I want you to say you're sorry. I've been sitting here all day worrying about your stupid ass, freaking out and there was nothing I could do about it. You could've been dead, Sammy, and there was nothing I could do about it. You could've at least answered your phone.”

 “Oh wow, welcome to my world, dude. Sucks, right?”

 Dean ignored him and took a shaky breath. The important thing was that Sam was okay. He turned around and climbed under the covers on his bed, his back to Sam. “Just hustle and take a shower so I can sleep.”

 “Why do I need a shower?”

 “You were at the garage all day, you probably smell like sweat.” _You smell like her, you smell like some chicks perfume and leather and lies. I called the garage and you left at five. Where have you been for four hours Sam? What was her name?_

He wanted to say it out loud. But he knew if he did he might cry and he wasn't even sure what was wrong. He wanted to say it out loud, but he wasn't sure it would change anything anyway. He wanted to say it out loud but what would Sam say? What would he think?

"Okay I'll try to be quick."

  
Sam would've understood completely.


	6. Highschool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger (bullying) I'm very very bad at writing bullying scenes because I've never seen guy bullying and with girls it's really different I guess?? Send help
> 
>  
> 
> *I'M ACTUALLY SO SORRY I STARTED SCHOOL BUT I'M MOTIVATED TO START WRITING AGAIN SO WOOT SORRY THIS IS SHITTY AND SHORT BUT I'M ALREADY WORKING ON THE NEXT ONE SO DON'T STOP READING

Dean had hated high school the first time. Now that he was at the same place for the _second_ time _and_ in his nerdy little brother’s body, it was hell.

He didn't necessarily get bullied, it was more just that he was used to being the immediate center of attention and no one was giving him a second glance. Not that that was entirely their fault. He was trying his best to act like Sam while simultaneously being pissed off (for no identifiable reason, which made him more pissed off) and it resulted in a completely unapproachable atmosphere. The few people that had the courage to speak up were instantly scared off by a slamming door or annoyed glance.

Actually, it wasn't until fourth period that he even spoke more than one sentence to a single person and it was only because she wouldn't shut up.

He knew as soon as he sat down he was in for an hour of misery. Though that can be said for basically any class. She was next to him before his perky butt reached the stool. He decided to tune out the first five minutes and came back somewhere around “...but I like to think even if the teacher _hadn't_ chosen me for the position, I'd still be the one.. “

Dean finally looked up at her and groaned. “Can you cut it out already?”

 It must've worked because she instantly went silent. He sighed. Thank go-

“Sam?”

Dean's head snapped up faster than it would have if it'd been his own name. Of course she could've known him from the attendance sheets or rumors, but her voice sounded so... _familiar_ with the name that he gave her a cautious glance.

“Uh... guilty?”

“I can't believe it's really you,” she squealed “You just disappeared off the face of the earth one day without a single word, we didn't know what happened to you we were all so _worried_ you didn't say anything, I mean i thought you would've at least told _me.”_

Dean was back to being annoyed again and drew an eraser through the grime on the desk as he answered her half-heartedly. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I was your _girlfriend.”_

His hand froze but he didn't let the emotions show on his face as he slowly looked at her. _Actually_ looked at her.

She had stick-straight blonde hair and blue eyes, with a blue plaid shirt to match. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing the pale skin of her wrist. She had blue braces (jeez, what on this girl _wasn't_ blue) but the smile behind them was wide and inviting. Everything in her binder was meticulously organized and color-coded, clean, her nails were done hot pink, her notes squeezed perfectly onto graph paper, loopy writing in gel pen. In fact, the only flaw Dean could find on this girl was the fact that her eyelashes were fake.

 “Yeah, I guess you probably don't remember me.” She mumbled in a tone that seemed almost sad before she bounced back to her perky self.”That's okay, I get it. I mean you move around a lot, you Probably had plenty of other girlfriends.”

  “Uh, sorry, I didn't recognize you at first. I mean it's been…” When was the last time they were here? Wendigo hunt three years ago? Sam had had a girlfriend three years ago and never told him? “about three years, right?” He eyed the top of her paper. “How’ve you been, Amanda?”

 “So you _do_ remember me. I _told_ everyone you'd come back, that you wouldn't just leave forever, not without saying goodbye.”

 “Everyone?” The bell rang before she could answer his question and the teacher walked in. He had wire glasses and a jacket with elbow patches. He had curly chestnut hair, and strode in carrying a briefcase, like he was trying to be a college professor. He couldn't be more than thirty three (though he seemed closer to late twenties), and a couple girls in the class were looking at him like he was prey.

 It was clear he wasn't going to be able to get Amanda to talk to him while class was in session, so he retreated into his mind.

Dean tried to imagine hooking up with a teacher, but every time he did, he pictured himself as the teacher, asking Sam to stay after class, finding excuses every now and then so he could get him alone and lay him down on his desk and- where the hell had that come from? But the images were flowing from his brain now, he was getting Sam with _this_ teacher and Sam in a school uniform and Sam in a _girl's_ uniform and he couldn't get it to stop. He clenched his eyes shut.

“Sam? Are you okay?”

He opened his eyes. The teacher was glaring down at him in a _how dare you interrupt my class_ kind of way. “Uh, yeah, it's all good.” as an afterthought he added “Sir.” to make his Sam act a little more believable. The teacher resumed his painstakingly slow process of writing notes on the chalkboard and left Dean to his own thoughts for the rest of the hour.

  
  


By the time school got out, he was so sick of the crowds of high schoolers, he decided to risk the hour walk back to the motel. The busses pulled out of the long parking lot, a series of creaking, huffing noises and brakes, wheels kicking up dirt on the asphalt, leaving Dean behind in a dust storm so thick, he couldn't see their blinking red and orange lights.

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean turned around to see two kids- one with a buzz-cut  and a varsity jacket, large but not particularly strong looking, the other lanky and tall in a green and black striped sweater.

Dean sighed “What do you want?”

The shorter one’s thick eyebrows sunk down even more, making his face cartoonishly angry looking. “Don't sass us, fag.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at them, waiting to see if they had any actual point for talking to him, but they seemed to think he look scared.

“Not so tough without your big brother here to protect you, are you, fag?”

They were trying to bait him, he knew it, and he wasn't going to do anything to get Sam in trouble so he started to turn and walk away, calling over his shoulder “What, you only know one insult, or are you just projecting?”

Apparently this was all the invitation they needed to start following him. “No  we’re calling you a fag because we know it's true. We saw you making out with that geek, what was his name?”

Dean froze. “What?”

“Oh yeah, _Jeremy._ ”

Dean let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah? Then explain Amanda. Unless you have some solid proof-”

“We have a picture.”

His stomach somersaulted. He wasn't pissed that Sam was gay, he was pissed that he had never told Dean. Weren't they supposed to talk about everything. The kid didn't even tell him he was dating _girls._

“Show me.”

They seemed confused by his reaction- he probably seemed too eager and innocent considering he was actually supposed to _be_ Sam. He should be panicking right now, right? Maybe he should sound like he doesn't believe them?

“I mean, you Probably don't even _have_ a picture, so…”

“Do too.” varsity jacket said, pulling out his phone so fast he almost threw it into the mud. He swiped furiously at the screen until he found what he was looking for and held it up triumphantly for Dean to see.

When he reached for the phone, the kid pulled it away. “No way, you're just gonna delete it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I'm not gonna delete it. Can I just _see the goddamn picture._ ”

The kid seemed unsure, but finally handed it over. “Just...don't mess with my phone or you'll have to pay for it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn't want you to lose your little photo. How would you jerk off then?” Dean mumbled, zooming in on the picture.

It was definitely Sam’s mop of messy brown hair and his profile. His long eyelashes and pink cheeks and cute nose...pressed up against another guy who, though he couldn't see him perfectly, did _not_ look like a geek. Sam was wearing his varsity jacket and something about the simple intimacy of the gesture lit a fire in his stomach. The guy must've graduated by now, he looked about a year older than Sam - fifteen year old Sam, that is. Geez, Sam was so young. The guy probably graduated last year.

“Why aren't you like, freaking out? You're acting like you've never seen the picture before.”

It hit him that they'd probably teased Sam about it before, that they gave him shit for liking guys. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as the taller one spoke for the first time.

“Yeah, remember last time, when he was all “Don't tell Dean. Anything but that.”” They laughed.

“What the fuck is your problem with gay people?” Dean asked, turning to them.

“It's gross. I don't want you fags hitting on me.”

 “I don't really think that's a problem. I doubt you have any luck with either gender. When apparently, I get tons of both.”

“You think you can talk to me like that, you piece of shit?” The kid started towards him, clenching his fists. “I'm gon-” He froze as Dean pulled out his gun and aimed it at the kid's chest.

“Pfft. That's not real.”

Dean cocked it. “Wanna take that chance?” He smiled.

They were getting visibly more afraid now. “Y-You wouldn't. You wouldn't shoot me.”

Dean's smile widened. “Try me.” He wouldn't shoot them. He kept the gun for emergencies, not dicks. But it seemed to be doing its job. “I swear to God, you mess with me again and I won't think twice before pulling the trigger. Got me? Good.”

He brought the gun down to his side and as they turned away, he yelled “And don't tell anyone about this.”

They didn't acknowledge him, but he knew they heard him. He resumed his walk home, thinking of Sam. Wondering if he'd be home. If he’d still be at work, or maybe with his new girlfriend. Dean glared at his feet. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was acting like a hormonal teenager. _Oh, wait_.

He tried not to think about Sam with that kid. When he got home, Sam was gone, the impala wasn't in the parking lot either. Looking back, they'd never discussed his hours last night, and they didn't talk this morning.

Dean texted him, just to be sure.

 

**What time are you off**

 

He dug through the kitchen and finally settled on some shitty off-brand Doritos. His phone buzzed on the couch and he dived for it, licking his already orange fingers to check the text.

 

**On my way.**

 

The garage was only a minute away, so he decided he'd wait for Sam to get back before turning on the tv. Maybe they could watch a movie and he could ask Sam about work, and Sam could ask him about school and everything could be the way it usually was. Like a normal family. Except for the whole body swap part. And the hunter part. He was looking forward to it, actually.

He heard the impala pull up outside and Sam's keys in the door, the twist of the old knob and creak of the hinges. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean said, keeping his eyes closed, waiting. He knew something bad was going to happen, because there was a familiar tone in his voice. It was the one he always used when he wanted to apologize without apologizing and he recognized it with one syllable.

“So, um. Marissa’s in the car. We’re gonna go hang out. You okay by yourself here?”

“Yeah. I'll be fine.” He mumbled, sticking his hand back in the Doritos bag.

He could feel Sam walking up to him. “Look. I'll be gone for, an hour. Tops. If I'm not back by…” He checked his watch. “Four forty seven, you can bitch at me all you want. Deal?”

“Deal.” Dean agreed, still not opening his eyes.

“Alright. One hour. Make sure you check the salt lines. I'll lock the door behind me, okay?”

Dean gave Sam a thumbs-up and listened to him speeding out of the parking lot.

 


	7. Am

 Dean was pissed. Beyond pissed. He had called twelve times, texted at least twenty, and left six voice messages. Sam wasn't picking up. He'd promised to be home around five. Dean glanced at the black plastic rectangle they called an alarm clock. 4:18. In the morning. 4:18 and Sam still wasn't home. 4:18 and countless possibilities were flying through Dean's (Sam's) head. What if something had gotten him? What if he ran into a ghost and didn't have any weapons? What if there was a werewolf? It could overpower him pretty easily, but the timing wasn't right. What if it was another witch? Or the same witch? The fact that her spell was still working meant she was probably alive, right? She'd faked her death already, she could do it again.

 Dean took a breath. He needed to think this through. There probably weren't any monsters in this town. Even if there were, they wouldn't know they were hunters. What else could’ve happened? He might just be out late. He might be with that Marissa chick. He almost didn't feel the pang of jealousy, he was so worried. What if it was a guy? Dean was pretty strong, but what if there were a lot of them? No, Sam wasnt stupid enough to make anyone mad if he couldn't take them.

 Dean was pacing now, trying to think of a way to get to Sam. Sam had taken the impala and Dean’s current body didn't have a license. He could steal a car, but where would he go? Sam was probably at a bar. He  _ was  _ out with a chick. Maybe Dean should leave him alone. 

 The door handle made a series of clicking noise as someone inserted a key and twisted. He ran to the door, which opened to reveal Sam leaning against the door frame.

 “Sam, where the fuck have you been?” 

 Sam didn't respond. “Sam? Hey, Sammy, you okay? What's wrong?” He ran his hands over Sam, checking him for injuries and came to the conclusion that Sam was just drunk off his ass. He pulled him in for a hug. He was just glad Sam was here, in his arms, safe. After a while they broke the hug and Sam leaned back against the door frame.

 “Um, I don't know what's going on, but I need a ride to my car?” 

 Dean hadn't even seen the blonde standing behind Sam with the keys, but there she was, long waves of hair cascading down her shoulders, pink lipstick shimmering on her plump lips, long lashes and smoky eyes, light glinting off the gold zipper going down her white, see-through shirt. And a big ugly frown plastered to her face. 

 “Hey, why don't you go lie down. I'll be in in a sec.” He said it to Sam, but didn't take his eyes off the girl. He smiled coldly and waited for Sam to get inside before addressing her. “Who are you?”

 She rolled her eyes. “Marissa?”

 “Ah, you're the chick my brother's banging.”

 She sighed, and once again he was reminded of the fact that he was a teenager and she wasn't about to take him seriously. Or take no for an answer. “Look, my car's like, a block away-”

 “Then why don't you walk?”

 “Uh, because It’s  _ dark? _ ”

 He sighed. “Did you lock the car?” 

 “Yeah?” She asked, clearly confused. 

 “Then give me my keys, i'll drive you.” She held them out tentatively. The metal glistened on her palm in the moonlight as her upturned hand came closer to Dean. He grabbed the keys and promptly slammed the door in her face.

 “Jeez, some people just never shut up. Right Sam? Sam?” Sam was sleeping on the floor, shoulders propped against the bottom of the couch. He stirred at the sound of his name.

 Dean knelt down beside him and felt his head. He had a fever. “Sam. You think you can stand up?” Sam nodded a bit and managed to get up  but leaned heavily on Dean. He put one of Sam's arms around his shoulder so he could carry him more easily. He was sweaty and his breath was soft on the back of Dean's neck. It smelled like vodka.

 He focused on carrying Sam to the bathroom and setting him on the toilet. “Sam can you say something? Please?” Dean moved to the shower and turned the single knob to the left a little. Warm, but not hot. More on the side of cold, actually.

 “It's four thirty three.” 

 “What?”

 “I'm on time right? It's four thirty.” 

 Dean turned to look at Sam. It was weird how foreign his own face looked with Sam behind it. Somehow there was a distinct difference. Sam managed to convey his puppy dog look even through the harsh lines and angles of Dean's face. “Yeah, Sammy. You're on time. Now let's get you in the shower.” 

 Sam stood, without the help of Dean this time, and started undressing. Dean wasn't really sure where to look. It was his body, but it still felt like he was watching Sam get naked. He decided to stick around, Sam might need some help.

 He made it through getting his shirt and pants off, apparently deciding it'd be a good idea to get in the bath in just his boxers and tripped on his way in, ending up under his back on the floor of the tub.

 “Whoa, you okay?” 

 “Dean.” Sam gestured for him to come closer, seemingly unaware of the cold water shooting down on him from the shower head. 

 “What's wrong?” Dean took a couple steps closer. 

 Sam motioned him over again.

 “Sam, seriously, are you hurt? Do you need-” He was cut off by Sam grabbing his arm and pulling him into the tub. 

 “Sam, what the fuck?” He was drenched in cold water, clothes and all  and he was on top of Sam, Sam's hips between his knees and his hands on the shower wall.

 Sam giggled, fully awake, probably partially from the water. “Seemed like you needed to chill out.” 

 “I'm gonna beat the shit out of you, I swear to fucking  _ God,  _ Sam.”

 “You can't fight me, I'm drunk. It wouldn't be fair.” 

 “Well i'm glad you're feeling better, at least.” 

 “Where'd Marissa go?” 

 “Don't know. She just left.” Dean lied. He didn't want Sam getting pissed at him right now. He was stronger and drunk, and Dean didn't want to see how Sam reacted to hearing his brother just slammed the door in his girlfriend's face. 

 “Huh. Well I've gotta thank her for driving me home. She was pretty nice, even though I think she was mad.” He mumbled, more to himself than to Dean.

 “Why was she mad?” 

 If Sam heard him, he didn't show it. He seemed deep in thought. 

 “What?” 

 Sam looked up at him. “Nothing, you're just really...pretty.” 

 “Glad you still have your sense of humor.” 

 They were still in an awkward position so Dean sat back to begin washing Sam’s hair but was stopped almost immediately when Sam grabbed his wrist.

 “I don't mean  _ me  _ you, I mean  _ you  _ you.” Sam said firmly, seeming satisfied with the explanation. Dean, however, was not. 

 “ _ Me _ me? You really are drunk.” 

 “I'm not- I mean I  _ am  _ but that's not why I'm saying this. I mean, it  _ is  _ but- Dean, I've always thought you were pretty.” Dean looked at him. He was bushing now, and Dean didn't know if it was a product of embarrassment or alcohol. 

 “We should hustle up and get out of here. Don't want you to get sick.”

 “Dean, I-” 

 “Sam.” He said firmly, immediately regretting it as he watched him shut down, saw his own eyes go blank. Sam began to stand and Dean tried to help him up, but Sam pushed his hand away and walked straight past him. 

 He was still stumbling a bit but he managed to dry off and flop on his bed on his own.

 Dean sighed and flicked off the bathroom light before making his way over to his own bed. He didn't know why Sam was so mad about it, but he didn't have it in him to fight. 

 “So how was work?” He asked pulling off his clothes one piece at a time.

 Sam grunted. 

 “How about your date? What happened? I mean, I know you got drunk, but…” He trailed off. He didn't know if there was even anything for Sam to tell, but he wanted to ask just in case. It was bad enough that he couldn't be with him all the time, he couldn't stand not knowing everything about Sam's day.

 “We went out to a bar, some Green Mill place. I drank a little and I got tipsy.” He paused and took a shallow breath. Dean could hear it in the dark, actually it was more like he could sense it. Well enough to know exactly what Sam looked and felt like at the moment. 

 “I got a little drunk, actually.” He continued, “and I- I guess I was more drunk than I thought. I started flirting with these guys. I mean, they started it, so it's not like it was my fault. But they kept making me drink  _ more… _ ” 

 Dean shot up. “Did they hurt you? They didn't force you to- I swear to God, Sam, if those freaks touched you, I _swear-_ ” 

 “Dean, I'm fine. I'm not letting anyone mess up your body, calm down.” 

 Dean wanted to tell him he didn't give a shit about his body, but Sam kept talking. “ Anyway, I don't know how much I drank, but the chick said she “couldn't conscientiously give me another drink,” so we went to the liquor store…” 

 Dean put his hands on his face. “Sam, what were you thinking?” He mumbled.

 Sam snorted. “Maybe if you didn't have such a high alcohol tolerance.” There was a long pause. “It's four in the morning, isn't it?” Dean didn't answer. “Thought so. I'm sorry, Dean.” 

 Maybe it was the use of his name, or the fact that he didn't just use one word, but the sentence hit Dean really hard. Like it had a deeper meaning. “For what?” 

 There was no answer. This bout of silence lasted longer than the previous one and Dean knew Sam wasn't  _ going _ to answer. A lot of things had happened today. They were both exhausted, they should just go to sleep. But something else was still bugging him…


	8. Revenge: A Dish Best Served Luke-warm

 Sam couldn't find his breath, he felt like he was suffocating, drowning on all the words he wanted to say but didn't know how. If he thought about it, it was less of a got-the-wind-knocked-out-of-me thing and more of a pressure in his lungs that wouldn't let him get the air in and out. His heart skipped a few beats, it seemed to be confused as to whether it should quicken its pace due to the panic that was paralyzing his entire  body, or slow down on account of his decreased intake of oxygen. 

 Dean's words were repeating in his head, almost in a rhythm, the same words he'd asked himself a million times, in the same inquisitive and hopeful voice.

 “Are you gay?” 

 He used to sit in front of the mirror and ask himself the same question, mostly out of same sense of genuine curiosity. He knew he was attracted to guys, but he didn't know if that was him being homosexual or the “exploring” he was told came along with his cracked voice and the double-digit candles on his birthday cake, so he asked. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but it didn't matter because nothing ever happened. There was no big “aha!” moment where the sky opened up and harps played and his sexuality was suddenly clear to him.

 Dean's hope was different. Sam knew he was hoping he was wrong. All Dean wanted was a normal little brother. It was bad enough he was such a loser. That was probably why Dean drank and ditched him to sleep with girls all the time. He couldn't stand to disappoint Dean any more than he already had. So he’d give him what he wanted to hear, even if it was a complete and total lie. 

  
  
  


 It was a complete and total lie. And Dean couldn't  _ believe  _ Sam had thought he'd fall for it. Dean gritted his teeth as he nearly stomped down the hallway. He was more mad than he remembered ever being, even if the situation wasn't a valid reason. He'd been in tons of arguments and fights before, even with Sam, but for some reason Sam lying right to Dean's face ticked him off the most. And the way he did it without hesitating…

 He was usually the impulsive one, but it had been two days since the incident and Dean was still plotting his revenge. 

 Well, more  _ perfecting  _ than plotting. He already had a plan. And the first part had to do with Jeremy.

 Dean had noticed Jeremy in the school hallway the day before and made sure to hide. He wanted Jeremy to see him, but he wanted to see his reaction up close. 

 Lunch came around and Dean figured he'd search the cafeteria for the kid, abandoning his usual place in the hall. There were plenty of students sitting at the tables (off white with maroon flecks). Most of them were eating soggy pizza or flat burgers, some of them even mixing it up by eating the watery soup. The people came in all shapes and sizes. It wasn't like highschool on tv. There weren't cliques or bullies or kids eating lunch in the bathroom. Sure, kids that shared interests stuck together, so most of the band geeks were with other band geeks, or the kids that wear too much leather (seriously, where do you get leather pants) had their own table, but it wasn't clearly defined and organized. Everyone seemed pretty tolerant of everyone else. He looked over to where the football players sat and then scanned the rest of the room. No Jeremy. He wasn't sure whether the school had multiple lunches or not yet, hadn't cared enough to check. So he went back to his own tray. He'd see him eventually. He was just turning the corner in the hallway when he ran into him. 

 Not literally, like in the cliché romance movie way, but still. He was standing in front of his locker and laughing with a friend. He hadn't seen Dean, ahem,  _ Sam  _ yet, so he took a minute to check the kid out.

 He was taller than Sam and had broader shoulders, his hair was short and a lighter brown, naturally messy in a way that made it seem spiked up. a navy tee shirt clung to his back and defined his muscular arms and soft skin. He was wearing a tan belt and dark-washed jeans that were probably supposed to be the opposite of flattering. And this was just the view from the back. 

 He turned to put something in his locker and laughed, running his hand through his hair. His smile was dazzling and his voice was smooth and Dean was pretty sure he was gay for the guy too. 

 “Now or never.” He muttered, silently cursing at himself for sounding like a teenage girl. “Hey, Jeremy.” 

 The guy turned and dean swore his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. It was almost comical. He noted they were hazel and continued walking towards him, even though every nerve in Sam's body was telling him to turn around. He finally reached point B and turned to Jeremy's friend. “Sorry, can I borrow him a sec? Thanks.” He dragged Jeremy away until they were down another empty hallway and no one was there to interfere. 

 Dean finally stopped walking and turned to Jeremy. 

 “Sam? Is it...are you...sorry, stupid question, I just mean...dude, where have you been?” He didn't like the way Jeremy was staring at him. Not that it was in any way bad, if anything it was so forcefully pure it hurt, he just looked utterly starstruck to be in the presence of Sam and Dean felt the need to break his nose so strongly he had to look away. 

 “Uh...long story. I can explain this weekend at my place?” He was hoping he sounded at least a little like Sam.

 “Family not home?” 

 “Uh...my brother's going to be there?” He chose his words carefully, not knowing how much Sam told him.

 Jeremy laughed. “Uh, did you get your own room?” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 “Well unless your motel has a back window or something, I don't see how I'm gonna get in without your brother noticing.” 

 “Well that's kind of the plan. I want you guys to meet.” 

 Jeremy's laugh had an edge of disbelief to it this time. “Wow, alright. So Saturday? What time?”

 “Is noon good?”

 Jeremy smiled his sparkling smile. “Any time is good, as long as it's with you, baby.” 

 Dean smiled at him as the bell rang, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his cheek.  “Gotta get to class, see you this weekend.”

 “See you.” 

 Dean was in an even worse mood the rest of the day, picking apart everything Jeremy had said. The whole “baby” thing? He already couldn't stand the guy. Why did Sam have to pick such an ass? Amanda hadn't tried to talk to him since the first day and he was thankful for it. He wasn't sure how well he'd deal with another one of Sam's exes today.

 Finally, the end of the day hit and dean was ready for part two of his plan. 

 

 There was a small brick building on the corner of Downtown Plaza and Blue Earth Avenue, somewhere in the middle of the city and people’s homes. It was one of those buildings you never really notice, the kind that you could pass every day and not be able to help but  _ not  _ notice, despite the purple flickering neon signs that seemed to be on even during the day. 

 It was way on the other side of town and on the opposite side of the motel than the school, but he figured as long as he checked in with Sam, he'd let him go. As long as Dean lied. 

**Hey. Going out with some friends. Be home late.**

 

 He started to get nervous as he drew closer to the shop. What if Sam found out? Obviously he was going to find out, that was the point, but...was he taking it too far? He stopped for a second, feet shuffling to a halt on the dry, crumbling asphalt. Maybe he should just turn around…

 His phone alerted him that he had a new message and he fumbled with it for a second before checking it. 

 

**I'll be out with Marissa. See you when you get home.**

 

 No, Dean had to do this.

  
  


 Sam wasn't with Marissa. He actually hadn't talked to her at all since he got drunk. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for what she'd done, he just didn't know how to face her. She probably didn't want anything to do with him anyway. Sam doubted she was into guys that like other guys. 

 He sat on his bed, staring at the unmade mess on the other one. 

 He missed Dean. Not just at the moment, but in general. And it wasn't just that he'd been going out more and spending less and less time with Sam every day for the last couple years. He was still around, obviously, it wasn't like he was dead, but deep down, Sam felt his absence, as if a part of himself was missing. And Dean was, had always been, the biggest part of Sam. The only thing that made Sam who he was. He didn't have anything else. Some people played sports, or did science competitions, or joined the school board, but all Sam had was his cool older brother. 

 He'd always had more friends. Everything that Sam worked hard for, Dean got easily. And now Dean was out with friends, something else Sam had never had. Dean was out having a good time while Sam was here sulking and pretending he had a girlfriend. 

 Not that he was doing it to seem cool. He was actually trying to help Dean. He'd been lying to Dean for years. He'd realized when he was ten that it was easier for Dean to leave Sam alone when he was mad or when he knew Sam was fine without him. But Sam was never really fine without him.

 He stretched before laying down on the saggy mattress, folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. He sat like that for twenty minutes before realizing he wasn't going to be able to sleep. Groaning, he slid off the bed and made his way to the bathroom and climbed onto the counter sitting criss-cross applesauce.

 The word beautiful didn't do Dean justice. His hair was a light brown, with hints of blonde and gold mixed in, his face carved out of marble, with a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. His eyes seemed layered, a mix of bright and dark greens making a forest deep enough to get lost in. His lips were plump and soft and Sam made a mental note not to bite them. His freckles were everywhere, clustered over the bridge of his nose, bursting out across his cheeks, spreading down his shoulders... he pulled off his shirt, tracing the path the freckles took and let his hand slide down Dean's chest and stomach, touching the slightly ginger happy trail.

 He let his finger slip under the elastic for a second, looking back up a the mirror. Of course Sam had seen Dean naked, but this was different. This was up close, and Dean wasn't even here to know it was happening. It was kind of... hot, actually. He took a deep breath.

 Someone knocked on the door. He fell off the counter and scrambled to his feet, hurriedly trying to pull on his shirt as the door opened. 

 “Dean?” 

 “Marissa. Shit. I should've locked the door. I-” 

 “Uh, sorry, were you?” she blushed. “You look like you were in the middle of something. Should I go?” 

 “What? No. I was just...uh, I was just napping..” Sam looked down at himself. He hadn't managed to get his shirt on in time. Thankfully, his pants were still on, or he'd have a hard time explaining himself. Not that he needed to. “Why are you here?” He didn't mean to sound as mean as he did. “I mean, I thought…”

 “You thought I was a homophobe? That I was gonna run away as soon as I saw you kiss a guy? That I was going to barge in with a priest and Bible and try and “save your soul”? Dean, I don't care if you're gay. I would've preferred to find out some other way, but-”

 “I'm actually bi.” 

 “Either way, your date choosing a guy over you is a bit…”

 Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm really sorry, Marissa. But I was just messing around, I didn't choose him over you, I just-”

 “Dean, I'm not really mad, it was just kind of embarrassing. I wish you would've told me instead of ditching me mid-sentence to make out with a guy-”

 “Huh? I didn't make out with anyone.” Or maybe he did. He could have. He tried desperately to recall that night. Nothing really stood out after the first few drinks except the gay thing...

 “You were pretty drunk, so you probably don't remember. But you definitely had a full on makeout session with that guy. Tongue and everything. And you were drunk too, so it was sloppy. It was actually kinda-”

 Sam choked. “Okay, okay I get it. Maybe let's not go into the details.” Dean was going to kill him. 

 “That's not the point, I still want us to be friends. Is that- that's not awkward, is it?” 

 Sam laughed a little, trying to shake off his nerves. “Not unless you make it awkward. I was thinking the same thing. You're really cool, I'm just..” He couldn't find the right words to make it up to her.

 “Mostly gay.” She laughed and it was comfortable, warm. Everything felt back to normal. “So…”

 “Wanna come in and watch and movie or something?” 

  
  
  


 Dean started his trek home, deciding to walk between the buildings to escape the wind that was blowing hard enough to make the houses a block away creak. It was already getting dark out and it was only around six thirty. He hated this time of the year. He was always pissed off and on edge, and the dark made his hunter's instincts kick in. He had been trained almost every minute of every day for a long enough amount of time for him to use his skills almost subconsciously. This was how he was able to sense when someone tried sneaking up on him. 

 The alleyway was long and narrow, the only source of light the flickering bulb hanging over a rusty fire escape. It was the kind with multiple sets of steps mounted to the dirty brick wall and zigzagging to the uneven pavement. Heavy doors led into the alleyway from the backs of shops and dumpsters sat against the walls. 

 Dean was stepping on a sewer lid when he noticed someone was behind him. Someone heavy, he could tell by the footsteps. He didn't turn around. He needed to gage how far behind the person was. He counted his steps. One, two,  _ thunk.  _

 The person had just stepped on the sewer lid, which meant he was a mere two steps behind Dean. He wasn't sure if Sam was strong enough to fight the guy, but he was gaining fast, and it would be worse if he got hit from behind. Maybe he could reason with them. 

 He turned around. The man was cloaked in shadow for the most part, but Dean could gather quite a bit from his shadow. He was taller than Sam by about four inches which would've made him taller than Dean by about two. He was pretty thin and had longer hair, but not like a girl's. His stance was one of defense, he seemed calm. Actually, he seemed stoned. Smelled like it, too. 

 As Dean opened his mouth to ask who the hell the guy was and why he was following him, he spoke and moved into the light. 

 “I knew it was you. Jeez, how long has it been?” 

 “What?” Dean was more than a little confused. He knew Sam must've had  _ some  _ friends, but he I didn't expect them to be twenty-some-odd drug dealers that hung out and probably lived in back alleys. 

 The guy ignored him. “It was what, three years ago? Time flies, I guess. How are you? Looking for cash? I could help you out again. That is, if you...you know. Do me a favor? Like last time?” 

 Dean's eyebrows drew together. “I'm not selling drugs for you, if that's what you're asking.” 

 The guy laughed. “You know that's not what I mean.” 

 “Sorry, what's your name?”

 “Zeke?”

 “Zeke.” Dean nodded to himself. “Okay, Zeke, I obviously don't know what you're talking about, think you could remind me?” 

 Zeke looked visibly uncomfortable. “Remember last time? You got stoned as hell and we...you know...” He put his hands in his pockets and then pulled them out. Fidgeting. Why was he so nervous? What was wrong with this guy? 

 Then it clicked. “You're telling me….I let you  _ fuck me? _  For money?” 

 Zeke looked at the ground. “You really don't remember? I mean, I know you were high, but…” 

 Dean was dizzy. His head was spinning and his lunch was threatening to make an appearance and he didn't know how to make it stop. He leaned against the wall and took deep breaths. How many times had this happened? This must've been going on for years. How had he not noticed? He was too caught up in his own problems to notice that his baby brother was…

 “Go away.” He mumbled.

 “Sammy?” 

 Dean clenched his fists. He was seeing spots. “I said go  _ away. _ ” He half yelled. He was putting all of his effort into not killing the guy right here.

 He hoped the anger would subside before he made it home. He doubted it would.

 

 Sam was alone by the time Dean got there. 

 Thank god. He couldn't look at Sam, couldn't look in the mirror. Couldn't do anything but climb into his bed and go to sleep. 

 Sam turned off the lights without saying a word. He climbed into bed and Dean could hear it creak every so often as Sam tried to get comfortable. He knew what was coming and he tried so hard to prepare himself, to make sure he wouldn't say something he'd regret, but he was too angry to help it. 

 “Dean, can I sleep with you?” Sam's voice was unsure and hopeful and scared all at once and Dean couldn't care less. 

 “Sorry, not a fan of sloppy seconds.” His voice was flat, a lake, with anger just beneath the surface, waiting in the dark to grab anyone that disturbed it. 

 “Dean, Marissa and I didn't do anything today. We broke up…” He could hear the confusion he felt in himself mirrored in Sam's voice. 

 “Oh yeah? Was it because of your little boyfriends down as the bar?” He could've left it there, avoided an argument, but he couldn't stop the words pouring out of his mouth. He sat up and turned to Sam, thankful that it was dark. “You're sick, you know that? What the hell is wrong with you? I can't  _ believe  _ someone like you is in my body right now. You better not use it like you use yours because I swear to whatever god is out there, I'll kill you. I will actually kill you, Sam. I mean it. I'm through trying to pretend you're my brother. I can't wait to get my body back, because as soon as we figure this out, I never have to talk to you or  _ look  _ at you again.” He didn't mean it, any of it. He didn't even know why he was so mad, but he wasn't going to take it back. It was out there. It was done. 

 “Dean,” It was barely a whisper, but even then Dean could hear his voice crack. And somehow it made him feel good, powerful. It was messed up, and he knew it. 

 “Don't.” He laid back down.

 Neither of them said anything else and soon Dean was asleep.

  
  


 Sam didn't have many options. He couldn't run away or call anyone, he definitely wasn't going to be able to sleep, he couldn't do really anything in Dean's body. The only choice he had was to get them back to normal. He plugged in his laptop and put on headphones, ready for a long night.

 

 When Dean woke up, Sam was gone. There was a note on the fridge saying he'd run to the store. Dean wasn't really sure how to feel about it. He was glad Sam wasn't there, because he didn't want to face him right now. He couldn't own up to everything he'd said the night before. But he missed him like hell and prostitute or not, all he wanted was to hug him and watch a shitty movie and fall asleep with him. Maybe he could start making it up to him. They could go to the movies, Dean still had plenty of money saved up from last month. Maybe afterwards they could make hot chocolate and look at the stars or something else geeky Sam would like. He texted Sam to ask for hot chocolate mix and got up on the counter, remembering the time Sam had gotten a toy telescope in his happy meal and taken it everywhere with him for months. He wouldn't let go of it, even during the daytime. 

 His phone buzzed. 

**Sure**

 At least Sam didn't hate him. Dean yawned, stretching out his long legs and muscular chest. Sam wouldn't be home for a while and it has been a few days…

 Dean pushed the thought out of his mind. He couldn't mess with his little brothers body like that. Even if everyone else had...Dean clenched his fists until it felt like his palms were bruising. Sam wouldn't notice. It wasn't like he was a virgin anyways, right? He could take a couple fingers. 

 

 

 It was still early when Sam got home and the bathroom door was shut, so he assumed Dean was getting ready. He rolled his eyes and unloaded the groceries onto the table. Seriously, he asked the chick for plastic three times. How distracting can be be when he's marching into walmart on a Friday morning, smelling like BO. He wasn't even nice to he chick. The only thing he said the entire time was “plastic”. 

 He checked the clock. Dean was supposed to be leaving soon. Sam looked out the window at the light snow that was floating softly to the pavement and decided he should probably just drive Dean instead. “Dean. We should go soon.” There was no sign Dean even heard him. “Dean?” The shower was running in the bathroom, so maybe Dean  _ couldn't _ hear him. 

 Sam walked up to the door, about to knock when he heard a faint choked off noise. He panicked for a second before a second noise came. A moan. Sam wasn't hearing right. He couldn't be. “Dean,” 

 Sam flushed bright red. He could feel the heat flooding his cheeks. Why was Dean in there moaning his own name? And more importantly, in  _ Sam's  _ body? Sam tried to think of an excuse, any excuse. He was singing, in the shower. Lots of people sing in the shower. A ragged groan interrupted his thoughts. Point taken. Obviously he was just jerking off to skin mags or something, right? But why not at least make up a girl's name? He'd been with plenty of girls, couldn't he think of  _ one  _ name that wasn't- Another moan and Sam was shuddering. There was a mixture of discomfort at hearing the sound of his own voice and the intense burn deep in his stomach at the thought of what Dean was probably doing to his body right now with his long, experienced fingers...Sam tried to calm himself down. He took a deep breath and  backed up slowly, ignoring the new friction in his jeans as he grabbed his stuff and slid quietly through the front door.


	9. To each his own

  Dean wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out of the bathroom, feeling good but thoroughly guilty. “Sam?” he noticed the groceries, still sitting out on the counter.  “Sam,” he called again. No answer. He pulled out his phone, trying not to be too paranoid about it and called him. 

  It rang through and went to voicemail.

 

**I just need some time**

 

  At least he was alright. Unless someone else had gotten to his phone…

 

**Call me**

 

  He didn't wait for Sam to call him, his fingers were already dialing the familiar number. 

  “Dean?” he picked up on the second ring, voice shaky. 

  “Sam what's going on?”

  “Nothing, Dean, I just… need some time.” 

  “Yeah, you need time, I got that. Why? And how much time? You would tell me if something was wrong, right?” 

  Sam sighed. “I'm safe. I've got somewhere to spend the night. Can you just give me some room to breathe?”

  Dean paused for a second, not really sure how to end the call. “I'm skipping class.” 

  “Fine.”  _ Click.  _

  Okay so, still mad about last night. Not that Dean blamed him. He closed his eyes to think for a second. If he went to school now, he'd be late anyways. He shook his head and fell back onto his bed. Wasn't like there was much else he could do. 

  
  
  


  Sam stared at the laptop. It was already getting dark outside and he'd been online for hours. Everything was sore and he was pretty sure he was experiencing hypothermia from his lack of movement but it had all paid off. He'd found a way to break the curse. He sighed and stood up, neck aching. He didn't really want to face Dean right now, for a number of reasons, but they needed to switch back as soon as possible. John could be back any day and then they wouldn't have the luxury of alone time. They'd be stuck in a car with him for however long it took for him to find a new case. On top of that he wasn't sure that "I'm sexually confused and you're mad at me." Was a good excuse for keeping this from Dean. 

  Sam closed his eyes. He hadn't realized how much the curse had been weighing on him until now. He hadn't been able to go anywhere or do anything and he felt like he was trapped under ice, stuck and unable to do anything about it. But now he had the cure, he could do whatever he wanted. He could leave. As soon as they switched back. Dean didn't want him around and all he was to John was a disappointment...no, he needed to wait, plan something out, he couldn't half-ass it, not this. Where would he even go? What would he do for money? It was less than a year before he could set off to college and he didn't want to screw it up. 

  He stepped into the cold night air just in time to see the Impala peeling out of the parking lot. He thought about chasing it, in case it wasn't Dean, or maybe in an attempt to stop Dean, but no one stealing a car would be stupid enough to play his Def Leppard tapes that loud just outside his door and he doubted Dean would stop for him anyways.

  Sam cursed at the chipped sidewalk and fumbled for the door handle to let himself back into the motel two doors down from the one Dean was staying in.

  He lay on his bed, awake, tapping his fingers against sheets that he might even describe as clean, which was probably thanks to the lack of guests. He tried closing his eyes but he was too tired to sleep. Which made no fucking sense. He bit his lip and grabbed his laptop to prevent another two hour session consisting of him trying to figure out what “tired” actually  _ was  _ and searched for a game. 

  Sometimes when he had time alone like this, he'd watch porn but more often he'd just watch a movie. He didn't hate porn but he was 17 and had never actually been with a girl outside of the few heated makeout sessions that Dean usually scored him by pushing him at every available girl within a ten mile radius and being reminded of that kind of took away from the fun of it. 

  He'd never even tried watching anything dude on dude. He could deny some things, but his search history was not one. 

  He settled in against his pillows and found one of those medieval games where you do quests and battle monsters for jewels and gold. He tried to focus on saving the people in the town (even the bartender, who he was  _ sure  _ was secretly a goblin) but he kept wondering what Dean was doing. 

  There were the obvious answers, hustling, drinking, hooking up with random girls, but he wouldn't do that in Sam's body, right? Sam could barely get dates within his own age group, he doubted even Dean would be able to change that. 

 

  Dean walked into the bar and immediately felt eyes on him. He looked around and noted that at least three people were staring at him like he was a piece of meat and more were trying not to. Most of them were men, too. He wondered for a second if there was some sort of gay radar thing because he had never even gotten half as many guys drooling over  _ him _ at a time. 

  Dean rolled his eyes and decided to put his all into acting like Sam because apparently that's what guys liked. 

  He walked up and sat at the bar, using his most innocent look and knowing he didn't pull it off anywhere near as convincingly as Sam did. 

  “What can I get you, hun?” the waitress asked, eyeing him with a mixed look of weariness and interest. How did Sam not notice this stuff? 

  He absent-mindedly ran through the menu before remembering the plan he made seconds ago to act like Sam. “Uh, I don't drink.” 

  “Course you don't.” the woman smiled and turned away to help someone else. 

  “Don't drink, huh?” Dean looked up to the guy on the right of him and noted that he was young, early twenties at most and good looking but not in a “I'd fuck him” sort of way.

  He had dark hair and darker eyes to the point of almost black and if Dean didn't know better he might’ve thought he was a demon. 

  “Yeah,” it was a lame attempt at a conversation but it didn't seem to scare the guy away.

  “You're at a bar.” The guy pointed out. He smiled at Dean and Dean smiled back.

   “I mean if you're buying.”

  The guy called over the bartender and ordered a few shots of vodka, sliding one in front of Dean. “Name’s Jack by the way.” 

  Dean nodded. “Sam.” 

  He threw his head back and tossed down the shot.

  Jack looked at him. “You sure you've never done this before?” 

  “Didn't say I've never had a drink. Just said I  _ don't  _ drink.” He had two more before he realized Sam's body wasn't accustomed to heavy drinking. He was already starting to feel flushed and dizzy and he didn't want to do any more damage than this. 

  “Thanks for the drinks, but I think I'm gonna call it a night.” 

  He could see the disappointment in the older man's face but everything about this place was making him queasy. He thought he'd be coming out and having a good time but all he wanted was to be back at the motel already. He pulled up outside less than an hour after he left and as soon as he got inside there was a knock on the door. He groaned and looked through the peephole, seeing himself, which he was not expecting. "Right, the curse thingy." He said out loud.

  He opened the door as quickly as possible and let Sam in. 

  “Hey so I found the cure and-" he paused, squinting at dean. "Tell me you're not drunk.”

  “Of course I'm not. I only had like two shots.”

  Sam sighed. “Okay, cause I need you sober.” he sat down at the small table and opened his laptop. “I found the cure.” 

  “The cure for the,” Dean gestured to his face and then the rest of him. 

  Sam nodded. 

  “Okay so what does this thing call for? Wicked witch flambe? Cause I am so ready to torch this bitch.” 

  “Yeah, you and most of 16th century scotland. Didn't seem to work out for them. Actually there are a couple ingredients we need but I don't know if we can get our hands on them.” 

  “Lay em on me.”

  Sam leaned over the back of the chair to look at dean. “Well for one, a burial shroud.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, the stuff they wrap dead people in? Before they bury them?” 

  “Totally. Okay so we need Rob Zombie’s safety blanket. Doesn't seem too hard.”

  Sam squinted at him. “Dude, I thought you hated White Zombie?”

  Dean shrugged. “Their album in 85 is kind of not horrible. Any idea where I can get one?” 

  “A White Zombie album?” 

  “A grave blanket, dipshit.” 

  “You realize those aren't the same…right, nevermind. I'd try starting at a cemetery.”

  “Right, because that's not creepy. Or illegal.”  he rubbed his hand over his face, trying not to fall asleep right there. 

  “When has that ever stopped you?” Sam batted his eyelashes at Dean in a “pretty please” kind of way.

  “That'd work if you weren't doing that with  _ my  _ eyes. Now it's just creepy. Let's go through the rest of our little grocery list before I hit the cemetery. Wouldn't wanna make two trips.” 

  Sam turned back to the laptop. “Okay well we need this plant called Datura. Datura Metel, specifically. It's a flower, often called the Devil's Trumpet or Hell’s Bells-” 

  “Seriously?” dean raised his eyebrows. “Hell’s Bells? Like the AC/DC song?”

  “I guess. Actually it makes a lot of sense, it was often believed to be used in witches spells in the sixteenth century because of its hallucinogenic effects. See, it's a member of the Solanaceae family, which is actually pretty common, it contains things like tomatoes, peppers, even potatoes-”

  “So you're telling me we've gotta find some hallucinogenic French fries? Please say we get to eat them. I skipped breakfast.”

  “Dean, this is serious. These things contain high levels of tropane alkaloids.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Eating even a little bit of this specific species could kill you or cause permanent damage. And if you die in my body we have no idea what’ll happen. I could get stuck in your body for the rest of my life.” 

  “Okay, no fries then. So where do we get em?”

  “My best guess would be to ask Bobby.” 

  Dean nodded, stood, and threw on one of Sam's jackets faster than Sam would've thought possible. “Well I guess I'll leave the Bobby thing to you then.” 

  Sam rolled his eyes and snatched his phone off the counter, dialing the number as the door slammed. He really needed to get around to saving Bobby in his contacts. 

  “Hey. Bobby, I need a favor.” 

  “You and your brother having a contest or something? See who can bother me the most. I just got done with the last one you asked.” his voice came out tinny through the speaker.

  “I know, I'm sorry, we’re just in some trouble and we need some supplies.” 

  “When aren't you.” He mumbled. “So, spit it out, what is it you need.” 

  “There's this flower, Datura Metel?” 

  There was a minute of silence on the other end “Yeah, I've got it. What do you need it for?” 

  “Just, a spell. It's nothing big we-”

  “Nothing big. Son, I don't have anything I haven't done loads of research on and I know what kinda spells people use these for. Either you're cursed or lookin to curse someone so you'd best tell me what's going on, less you want me to call your daddy.”

  Sam groaned inwardly. He didn't know why he was having so much trouble saying it but he knew Bobby meant well and this was the only way he could think of to get the ingredients to break the curse. 

  “On the last hunt, Dad was after a witch. Know anything about Agnes Sampson?” he paused, waiting for Bobby to say something.

  “Agnes sampson? Only that she's been dead four hundred years.” 

  “Yeah, not so much. We thought we killed her but she hit us with some kind of a curse and I kinda…woke up in Dean's body…” 

  Another minute where Sam could hear nothing but Bobby's breathing through the phone and at some point a mumbled curse. “So you're telling me you're Sam.” 

  Sam nodded, realized Bobby couldn't see him, and let out a choked “Yeah.” 

  “Well you did the right thing calling me, just wish you'd a done it sooner. Could've given you the cure right from the start. You know you need a burial shroud, right?”

  “Dean's on it.”

  “And you know about the incantation and the Grand Pentacle of Solomon?”

  “Yeah, Bobby. We just need the Datura.” 

  He could almost see Bobby nodding. It had been a long time since they'd visited him but he remembered it all pretty clearly, his house, every surface covered in books and scotch glasses. 

  “Alright, boy. If you say you've got it covered, I'll believe you. But call me if anything happens.”

  Dean slammed the door when he walked into the motel room, waking Sam from his nap.

  “Nice to see you too. “ Sam mumbled, turning into the pillow. 

  “Can it, ugly. You didn't just spend four hours driving to and from Sioux Falls to get  _ this _ stupid thing.” He threw a plastic bag on the table and collapsed onto the couch. “At four in the morning.” he made a show of stretching dramatically. 

  “Just surprised you didn't get pulled over.” It took a minute for Dean to understand because Sam's voice, which was still Dean's voice, but hopefully not for much longer, was muffled by the pillow. 

  “You know, you don't look as young and innocent as you think you do.” 

  “Yeah? And what's that supposed to mean?” 

  Dean paused for a second. He realized with no little amount of horror that in his delirious state he could probably go on for hours about how erotically pink Sam's lips were and where exactly he imagined them every time he looked at him. Of course, Sam could argue that had more to do with Dean's lack of innocence than his own. If he was willing to say anything to Dean ever again after Dean let that slip. 

  “Just means what it means.” 

  Sam sighed. “You falling asleep?”

  Sure, everything except his traitorous dick, which was now 100% awake. Which was weird, because it was Sam's dick, not his, and if anyone asked he would blame it on that- Sam somehow being sexually attracted to himself, definitely not Dean being attracted to Sam. 

  Sam took his silence as an answer. “Fine. You get two hours. Then we break this stupid curse.” 

  Two hours of sleep wasn't ideal but it was enough to get the job done. When he woke up Sam was already sitting in the middle of the room, bowl of smoking ash in his lap. 

  “Alright, Dean. It's done.” 

  Dean walked over towards him. “What, you mean the curse? Then why are we still-”

  “No, I need you to come here really quick.” Dean obliged and kneeled where Sam asked him to. “ Ready?”

  Dean nodded, not really sure what he was agreeing to until Sam's hand dipped into the bowl and began drawing something on his chest from the ash. 

    It was quiet except for their breathing and Dean shivered at the feeling of Sam's hands on him, because body or not it  _ felt  _ like Sam. 

  “How did you sleep?” He asked in a hushed voice. 

  Dean shrugged, uncomfortable with how formal that had sounded. “Good. What are you drawing?” 

  Sam looked up at him. “It's a simplified version of the pentacle of Solomon.”

  He finished his last couple of strokes and moved on to drawing a matching one across his own chest. 

  “I can help, if you want.” dean offered. Sam shook his head. Within a couple minutes he was done.

  He nodded to Dean and then began an incantation. “Atharrachadh air ais, Atharrachadh air ais, Atharrachadh air ais…” he went on like that for a while before a blue light similar to the one the witch had hit them with erupted from the floor between them. Dean grabbed Sam's hand for balance and laughed a little, both at Sam's surprised face and his own nerves. He didn't know much about witches spells but this didn't exactly seem like a good omen. The light got bigger and louder until everything suddenly went black.

 

  They woke up again, at the same time, lying on the floor. Dean looked at his watch and noticed that it read 11:56 which meant they'd been out for almost six hours and- wait. His watch. His watch was on his wrist. He jumped up, tripping over Sam-  _ Sam  _ Sam- on his way to the bathroom. He saw his own face in the mirror and started touching it, checking that everything was back in place. It was strange how foreign his own face felt now.

  He went back out into the living room whooping and hugged Sam tight to his chest, just happy to have him back to his original, huggable size. 

  “We’re back. It's all okay, Sammy. You're you. Man, I missed you so much.” he squeezed tighter until Sam started complaining.

  “Dean, let me go. I didn't go anywhere, I was here the whole time, seriously let me  _ go. _ ” 

  “I know, I just missed you. I missed looking at you and hugging you and being taller than you. Sammy i-”

  He was cut off by the doorbell ringing and still waited a moment before letting Sam go. He watched happily as Sam stood up and walked to the door, swinging it open and shielding his eyes from the sun and…slamming it shut again. 

  Sam looked at him with eyes so wide it would've been comical if he wasn't so utterly terrified. 

  “Dean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why is Jeremy here?”  


End file.
